Saturday, August 31, 2013

Recording with John Petkovic (Death Of Samantha; Cobra Verde) reminded me of this song I recorded with one of two best rhythm sections I've ever worked with---Stoo Odom and Marco Villalobos (Graves Brothers Deluxe, Mahikari, The Residents, Thin White Rope, Noel Redding).

I had written a "topical song" in 2009 (it's still, alas, topical today) about the healthcase crisis, and the debate over "Single Payer Healthcare plan"--for The Thom Hartmann show on Air America (when we still believed it had a fighting chance of being passed). I had originally set the words to the tune of Eddie Chochran's "Summertime Blues" (in classic Mad Magazine meets Weird Al Yankovich fashion),

but Stoo Odom pointed out to me how Pere Ubu's "Final Solution" is based on "Summertime Blues." We all loved the music to the Pere Ubu song, so we recorded it that way too. The video is just a placeholder, but I love the SOUND of this band.

I'm not saying my looks are nearly as good as the original, only that I can't even perform the original anymore, because my own words are so buried in my psyche, so here they are:

“Art is one of the many
products of thought. An impressive one, perhaps the most impressive one, but to
revere art, and have no understanding of the process that forces it into
existence, is finally not even to understand what art is….Even the artist is
more valuable than his artifact,…but the process itself is the most important
quality because it can transform and create, and its only form is
possibility…..The artifact…is only important because it remarks on its source.”

Le Roi Jones/Amiri Baraka, “Hunting Is Not Those Heads
On The Wall” (1964)

“….but in any case the thing’s got to come into being,
something has to happen, or all

We’ll have left is disagreements, desagrements, to
name a few.”—John Ashbery,

“One Coat Of
Paint” (April Galleons, 1987)

In considering the symbiotic relationship between artifact
and artistic process, the “Head on the wall” is a striking image to characterize
art works in galleries or museums. It emphasizes the beautiful trophy of the
so-called successful hunt abstracted from the process of hunting, as well as of the hunt’s functional necessity (that resulted in the creation of practical
necessities like food and clothing, whether called ‘craft’ or ‘culinary arts’).
In Early Modern (pre-20th century) Western Art, such “death” was
often championed as immortality---the
sublime object can outlive the artist. Baraka clearly makes no such brag, but this
doesn’t mean he rejects the creation of “things.”

“Art is identification, and the slowing down for it. But
hunting is not those heads the on the wall.” This is the only time he uses the
phrase in that essay, but it’s telling. This “death” (or “Immortality”) is more
accurately (modestly and intimately) a cessation, a pause, in the mad rush of
the hunt, the process, or of what Ashbery would call “disagreements,” however
arbitrary (a poem is never finished, only abandoned; a song is never finished,
only recorded). The artifact, or thing, may not provide any absolute closure,
but there was a real ethical foundation in the creation of the first gallery or
exhibition setting---as a sacred (even if ad hoc) place. Likewise, the concept of art as an end-in-itself, if
understood as a temporary absolute, is not dismissed. Baraka does revere that
attention, the slowing down that the creation of artifacts entails, just not
the fetishism of it at the expense of the process.

Even if the artist is “cursed with his artifact,” he’s
careful not to say, “Hunting is better, or is always better, than those heads on the wall”—and in this sense, his
essay is more radical than those who do suggest we he should eliminate the
artifact. Rather, it’s needed precisely to illuminate the process, and
enable its continuing. The process may give the artifact meaning but the artifact gives the meaning form. In order to “push the envelope,” there must first be an
envelope to push. [i]

II. Bringing The Work
Site Into The Harris Gallery

Bettina’s Hubby’s recent construction site installations
illustrate the struggle with the artifact Baraka explores. Hubby starts with an
idea “to create outside the confines of conventional exhibition settings,” yet
her photographic and mixed-media Construction Site series was first made public at the Harris Art Gallery at
The University of LaVerne in November 2012. In this setting the primary
emphasis was on the “heads. “Art-critics and enthusiasts gave positive reviews
to her choice in subject matter as well as aesthetic beauty of her
site-specific installation art, but her artwork went beyond static portraits or
still life “documentary photography” in a number of ways. This two-person show,
with Chad Attie, was itself deeply influenced by the kind of thinking that was
in the air when Baraka his essay in 1964.[1] As
Jon Leaver puts it in the press release for this show:

Since emerging in the late
1960s and early 1970s, site-specific installation art has sought to reject the
notion that artwork is independent of its surroundings. In line with this
current in contemporary art, this exhibition brings the life of the street
directly into the gallery.

Hubby’s inspiration for the
Construction Site series came literally from the street outside her front door.
The imagery incorporated into her photographic and mixed-media installations
derives specifically from the road works taking place on Rowena Avenue in Silver
Lake, the site of her studio.... Accordingly, she has brought the work site
into the gallery in the form of five sections of chain link fence, onto which
are clamped delicate silk panels printed with her photographs of construction
work. These photographs are manipulated to subtly kaleidoscopic effect,
producing a mirroring similar to a Rorschach inkblot, an invitation to the
spectator, perhaps, to imbue the work with personal meaning. Other works in the
show include ceramic tiled panels that further evoke and aestheticize the
paraphernalia of road works, as well as photo-collaged wall decals depicting strange
hybrids, conjoining organic forms and machinery."

Leaver, as well as other art critics who wrote of the show,
emphasize the aesthetic detail of the artifact, but notice the tension between
the verbs and nouns! As Hubby’s process manipulates
kaleidoscopic photographs of construction work, and places them on silk panels
clamped onto sections of a chain-link
fence, her conjunctions between the sky and the machinery, the yin and yang,
also reveal contrasts. Using “masculine” and “feminine" media and forms
and processes, the symmetrical mirroring of the large water pipes before
they’re placed underground, in my own personal imbuing of meaning, resembles
fallopian tubes as a site of construction, for instance—though her gendered
juxtapositions in her work cannot be reduced to mere anatomy.

At the Harris Gallery show, the thing came into being, and the show certainly illustrates one way life can be brought back into the museum
(even in the form of the holes in a
chain-link fence). These objects become commodities for sale and appreciation,
but at least as importantly an occasion for more hunting. As Leaver writes:

As with much of Hubby’s work,
the project is participatory and inclusive; for her the construction site is
not a distant subject of her disembodied lens, but something to be engaged.

Accordingly, for Hubby, this successful and innovative show
at the Harris Gallery could not be the be-all-and-end-all, the closure or culmination of a fascinating process. In part, because the process of construction at the site
continued, in her own front yard outside
of her live/work space; whether she liked it or not, she could not avoid
returning to the source! Socially and environmentally, this controversial
construction site was larger than her and she could not be an observer of it without also being an
actor in it-- since her art was contingent on the construction worker’s work (whether you call it art or not).

III. Construction+Art:
The Rowena Street Exhibit

In her Rowena Street exhibition, she brought the gallery
back into the street, the site of her original inspiration. This phase of her
engagement was the antitheses to the Harris show.The work becomes imbued with cultural meaning
that was implicit in the Harris Gallery, but now the primary focus, even if at the risk of
de-emphasizing the “actual art” itself—a risk she gladly took to create
work that doesn’t corrupt viewers
into “accepting the material in place of
what it is only the remains of,” as Baraka puts it.

Hubby had begun documenting the construction site on Rowena
(The River Supply Conduit Improvement Project commissioned by the L.A.
Department of Water and Power) because, like many residents and businesses in
the area, she was frustrated by the noise, the dirt, and the underlying
politics of this project (now into year 3 of what was supposed to be a 1-year
project). Hubby, however, also saw the similarities between what she does as an
artist and what construction workers do—and felt increasing solidarity,
especially as she became more aware “of the neighborhood tensions that the
workers have to fend off," as she told Catherine Wagley of the LA Weekly.[2] If
one of the of functions of “documentary art,” is to call attention to the lives of its subjects, the Rowena
exhibit certainly achieved that more than most documentary still-lives are
able.

A construction site, as a workspace, is much more an
embodiment of what Baraka calls “hunting.” A construction worker understands
work a little differently than even the most innovative conceptual artist; the
finished project just means the end of the gig, the end of a paycheck---a sense
of accomplishment too, but, unlike in an art-gallery context, they get paid for
the hunting more than the heads. If these construction workers
didn’t actually create what they were paid to, they would likely not be re-hired!
Yet that doesn’t mean they are not also “artists” (if that term is used
honorifically).

Understanding this, Hubby wanted to celebrate their ongoing work, so she threw a party on
the construction site itself on Saturday, January 12, 2013, an ‘off day,’
(though a few workers still could be seen working), that transformed it into a
gallery space; her printed invitation emphasized the “casual party” nature of
this event for the benefit of a workers and general public[ii]---but
it was also a highly political conceptual art piece with civic value. The
workers “played,” but Hubby worked. While
Hubby displayed many of the same works she had shown at the Harris Gallery on
the actual chain-link fence, the “hardhats’”
unfinished works-in-progress presided
over the event. In this context the work had a radically different function as
well as meaning. The construction site became more than a “found object.” The
event itself—which was well documented, became as much a part of the art as the
photographs.

Since it was primarily billed as a party, balloons, candles,
food and music became as important as her own artwork. She unveiled new
art-objects, created specifically for this site-specific context—most notably, the
iconic “disco ball” hanging from a large excavation crane that loomed over the
site and the traffic cones stuffed with flowers; the cones could still serve
their primary functional purpose while also doubling as vases. She also symbolically
invited the attendees to literally eat
her photographs, as the icing of the cake she served, and photographed the
half-eaten cake (another form of excavation or digging). While the photographs
that emerged from this event are beautiful and thought provoking, they only
tell half the story. In this context, the objects, and even her role as
“artist,” were superseded by her role of party host, project coordinator, and
even political activist—her relentless hunt.

She invited me to provide the musical entertainment. Hubby
understood how a dirty 1983 Ford Econoline with a piano bolted to it (courtesy
of mechanic High Kilroy), conceptually, is analogous
to a large crane with a disco ball hanging from it. She also painted the van
with chalkboard paint so that the workers and their children could create
visual art as I performed. We set up a microphone outside the van and many of
the construction workers and their families as well as singers from the
surrounding neighborhood (Michelle Rose, Tif Sigfrids and others) joined in for
“street karaoke.” The construction workers sang along to “We Gotta Get Out Of
This Place” (poignantly joining in on the “work, work, work” chorus) and sang James Brown’s “I Got You” in hilarious
falsetto after sucking on helium balloons—to name but two highpoints.No one cared if we were creating “art” beyond
the transient event—and, musically speaking, we weren’t creating marketable
“product,” but for that night at least, the tensions between the neighborhood
and the workers were not evident, as the audience became participants; the
subjects became co-creators in the art, and the artist became curator as well
as observer; producer as well as consumer.

This party certainly lived up to Hubby’s claim “to create
art outside of conventional exhibition settings.” It became a media event—not
simply the antithesis of the Harris Gallery show. Taken together, these two
construction site exhibits, complemented each other, and suggest new
possibilities for how we create and exhibit art and music in the 21st
century. This was not lost on Elsa Longhauser, the director of The Santa Monica
Museum of Art. SMMOA found itself in the middle of another construction site
controversy, and invited Hubby to be a year-long resident construction artist
to make a virtue out of necessity.[3]This
provided Hubby the perfect context to further develop, and synthesize her findings of her first two construction site exhibits—largely
because itwas both a construction
site as well as a conventional
exhibition setting.

On July 21st, 2013, Hubby brought her artwork and
curatorial acumen to another controversial construction site: the Bergamont
Station, adjacent to the Santa Monica Museum of Art. Hubby’s “Dig The Dig” installation
was an outdoor event that brilliantly occupied the liminal space exactly between the construction site and the Santa Monica Museum of Art. Though
officially invited by the museum, and held on its parking lot (separated from
the site by a chain-link fence), the event had the blessing of the construction
site, and both construction workers and art cognoscenti were invited to
participate (and the input of both was essential).

“With the validation of SSMoA Monica,” as Rose Apodaca puts
it, “the celebration-cum-art installation took on a different significance from
the Rowena chapter—albeit without the institutional or art world sobriety” of
the first chapter at LaVerne University. Like the Rowena event, it was a party
to celebrate the workers whose construction work on Olympic and 26th
she had chronicled, as the Museum’s “Resident Construction Artist,” in the months
leading up to the event. Hubby expanded most of the ingredients she had
included at that event (the disco ball, the cones, the food, etc.), but,
socially, it had many more similarities with a conventional art opening for
group exhibition. While this installation was billed as a “potluck dinner,” and
included a rich away of food and beverages, what Hubby served up was an
embarrassment of riches that simply cannot be digested in one visit to the
museum cum construction site.[4]

V. Curating Is Not
Those Heads On The Wall

Of the over 300 attendees of this event, there were only a
handful of construction workers present; the vast majority were patrons of the
museum, fellow artists, or people from the community who had heard about the
event through KCRW or the other pre-show publicity. Over 30 artists, working in
a wide array of media (from artifact-based work to process-oriented work)
contributed.[5]

As a result, there were many more patently artistic focal points at this event, with a site
map posted on a blog to allow curious viewers to navigate the event.[iii]
As one of the musicians invited to provide “entertainment,” I was especially
impressed by the way Hubby spaced the layout of the event so the musicians, and
DJS, were far enough away from each other so as not to compete. Since the space
itself was more expansive than either the Harris Gallery or Rowena Site,
Hubby’s own art-work took on a larger scale, as she displayed “super-sized
photographic murals on vinyl” (in contrast to Harris’s silk): “a kaleidoscopic
vision of dredged earth, ponderous machinery, verdant palm trees and sea-blue
skies”(Apodaca).[6]

She also expanded her use of the traffic cone motif; this
time stuffing the traffic cones with sunflowers—because they last longer—and
streaking them with tasteful brushstrokes which complemented the orange, and
the presence of the cones was heightened by her use of orange table-cloths,
utensils and actual oranges in bowls. Barbara Gillespie decorated each tall
cocktail table with crocheted orange and white miniature “cozies,” The
Inflatocorps Cone Bar created a giant nylon cone, and Ivette Soler conceived a cocktail
called The Safety Cone. Thematically, the flower in the cone provided the
central iconic image, or thing, that
often started the discussions, yet the discussions went beyond it in
fascinating ways.

In her role as “curator and project coordinator,” contrast
and juxtaposition of such contexts deeply influenced Hubby’s decisions on which
art works, and artists or creators to include.[7] As
a writer, I was immediately impressed with the text art by Christopher Michlig and Eve
Fowler. Michlig’s posters were nothing but the single word “YES” or “NO,” the
primary dualistic juxtaposition,[8]
while Fowler chose one of Gertrude Stein’s Tender
Buttons as her text to hang on 4 adjacent posters. Hubby used them for the
show “purely due to the day-glo palette and poetic nature of their messages in
contrast to normal construction site signage” that suggest analogies with the
cone, but the specific text Fowler decided to use was entirely her own and suggests
other juxtapositions worth further investigation (Fowler was not present at
this event).

VI. Branching Out

Likewise, the inclusion of my “piano van” project
clearly relates thematically to the flower in the cone or the disco ball on the
crane. Hubby did not dictate my choice of material; the event, however, certainly
played a part in the nature my “performance art” at that event, as I found
myself interacting, often one-on-one, with those who visited my parking space
during the four-hour stint before my official 20 minute performance. In this
context, there was very little gregarious dancing—to either my music or the DJ
at the other end of the site-- and no interactive, if debauched, street karaoke
as at the Rowena event. I did receive requests for some songs, and appreciative
listeners, but more often I found myself in fascinating discussions with other
artists and art appreciators about the presence of the piano in the van as an
installation piece in Hubby’s exhibit.

Since the event necessitated that Hubby “branch out” from
her role as visual artist into her role as curator, it became clear that I must
branch out from my role as musician. The mere concept of a piano in a van may
be a static artifact, but improvisation,
in this case primarily in conversation, became the hunting, which allowed me to at least begin the process of interactive harmonizing with the practices of the
other artists at this event in a way music could not in this context.

Indeed, at the heart of Hubbyco’s curatorial projects, is
her putting a diverse group of artists in implicit dialogue, to explore the
ways each artist’s practice intersects with the others. These conversations
became explicit at Dig The Dig, and
as I found myself engaging in them, I experienced how the conversations became the art, or more importantly the
hunt, in which the artists could begin to discover ways in which are practices
can be further coordinated to intersect with each other.

VII. Language,
Introversion, and the Question of “Conceptual Art”

In this discussion, I’ve purposely tried to de-emphasize the
use of the term “conceptual art,” to describe Hubby’s ongoing achievement.
Certainly Hubby tries to avoid the term—for her the execution of the works (the
‘heads on the wall’) is clearly not a “perfunctory affair” (as Sol Le Witt put
it in his seminal 1967 definition in ArtForum); but as the presence of Christopher Michlig’s text-art shows, Hubby
certainly incorporates the central concerns of that historical “movement,”
creating art that questions its own nature. While many have pointed out Hubby’s
affinities with her mentor, Ed Ruscha, who elevated the status of language
itself as art (and was present at the event as a “culinary artist”), and
others who have produced art by exclusively linguistic means, I detect even
more affinities with Christine Hill’s Volksboutigue
projects. Hubbyco, like Volksboutique, could be characterized as “an exercise in labor, in public service and
conversational skill” revealing “the
dichotomy between a working atmosphere and its result---between introversion
and extroversion.” It shows “the mess behind the scenes” exhibits mistakes
and "capitalizes upon chaos” (Volksboutique
Manifesto).[9]

In Hubby’s case, the conversational skill both precedes and
extends beyond the “event itself.” Talking and writing have a similar symbiotic
relationship in the Artof Conversation. Behind the scenes, the creation
of a blog months before the event to document her role as Resident Construction
Artist became at least as important as her delivery of flowers to the
construction site. Those were the first two things Hubby did at SMMOA, and in
expanded proposals she planned both bulletin boards and billboards not simply
to publicize the project but to engender discussion on its civic and aesthetic
value. In the 21st century, such “virtual reality” becomes as
crucial as attendance at actual events, whether we like it or not.

The so-called necessity of “web presence” these days in the
culture industry (on-line applications, on-line classrooms, wiki-leak activism,
MP3 culture, etc.) has lead to an increasing placeless, and eventless, culture. Yet overzealous attempts at
reactions to this (such as the Occupy Movement, which became dominated by those
who believed that their actual physical presence at various City Halls around
the country was more “in the trenches” than those who were working on the “virtual”
trenches (through teaching, the web or art) are not the answer. Why? In part
because they don’t make room for introvert!

But Hubbyco’s vision is capacious enough to reveal the
dichotomy “between introversion and extroversion,” and thus make room for the
introvert as well site-specific extrovert, between the “doer” and the “thinker.
In this sense the launching of the blog alongside
of her beautification project at the actual site shows how the event
becomes the thing that exceeds itself. As an introvert, I feel
in many ways more present in Hubby’s
project in writing about, and beginning to analyze some significances, of these
pieces than I did when at the actual event (though it was fun-work while I was
there!).

In this sense, the event became less of a culmination or a
climax of Hubby’s construction work installations and more of what Rose Apodaca
refers to as SMMoA’s “first chapter of engagement with the revitalization of
its environs and its own metamorphosis.” As I look forward to Hubby’s proposed
books, and even a panel discussion (which may include as many of the artists
present as she can corral, her
ongoing blog and proposed book and other documentation), I considered writing a
DIG THE DIG theme song, but Samo Hunt had already done that (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXAXQEwQeaI
).so—for now I decided to write a sestina. It only focuses on one aspect of the
event, but one that should not be overlooked:

[1]Baraka was clearly not alone in the idea that museums
and galleries that de-emphasize their surroundings conferred the negative value
of a reified ‘death’ (as opposed to a positive value of ‘immortality’ onto a
living process). You can even see it in Dylan’s “Visions of Johanna,”—“inside
the museums infinity goes up on trial...” The highway blues that Dylan sees in
the Mona Lisa’s smile could also be called ‘the hunting.’ Yet The Harris show
illustrates one way a gallery can bring life back in.

[3]While most agree bringing more mass transit to the
area will be great for the community, “it’s a sad irony,” as Lisa Napoli noted,
that it resulted in the destruction of the much beloved Track 16 Galleries. The
Museum (itself a beloved, and anything but staid, institution) remains, and
while temporarily inconvenienced by the “dig,” is ultimately looking forward to
the new station.

[7]aside from the food of course; both professional and
amateur “culinary artists” were invited)

[8]see Apodoca for a further discussion of the possible
significances, both aesthetic and political, Michlig’s posters took in the
context of Dig The Dig.

[9]http://www.eigen-art.com/files/vb_manifesto.pdf A
fascinating art-school dissertation could be written on the striking
similarities (and differences) between these two artists. I’ve had the pleasure
of working with both, and plan to discuss this in a future piece that goes
beyond the scope of this essay.

[i]Baraka’s own body of work, as artist, public
intellectual, culture worker and activist in over 60 years of public life is
itself an embodiment of this symbiosis. His work in forming collaborative institutions
of self-determination (from his work with The Black Arts Repertory Theatre in
the 60s to his recent events, co-hosted with his wife Amina Baraka, at the
Spirit House in Newark) is exemplary, and go beyond the terms of this
particular early essay of his.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Great music on the radio may be increasingly rare these
days, but there is still some very good song-length pieces on talk radio.
Here's a recent one I found worthy of transcribing (to sublimate my own
personal crisis, once again, in the wider cultural one!)

A Farm stand opens in
South LA to fill a grocery store void.

Which Way LA? A
3:32 piece produced by Anna Scott

http://soundcloud.com/kcrw/a-farm-stand-opens-in-south-la

Starts with crowd noise,
& the sound of a typical farmer’s market exchange—

Someone asking for fruit, and
being told the price.

Enter voice of commentator:

A liquor store parking lot in South LA isn’t the typical setting for a
farmer’s market,but that’s where a
new Friday produce stand started last week.It may just be a single booth with a modest supply of lettuce, grapes,
berries,and other fruits and
vegetables, but some see it as a major victory:

O: 22: “we’re all here together having a fruit
stand, partially because the big grocery chains have just decided to abandon
south LA and so we’re gonna yell at them and bang on their windows about that,
but at the same time, we’re not gonna go hungry”

O: 36: Marquis Harris Dawson is President of the Non-Profit
Community Coalition, one of the organizers of the new produce stand. According
to the group South LA has roughly one grocery store for every 6,000 people. By
comparison, West LA has approximately one store for every 4,000 residents. South LA also has far
fewer farmers’ markets, and a higher concentration of fast food and liquor
stores.

For years it’s, been
referred to as a food desert, with little or no access to fresh affordable
foods. The Community Coalition draws a direct link between the neighborhood’s
limited food options and its higher rate of health problems like obesity and
diabetes, so they partnered with another non-profit, Community Unlimited, which
provides the produce for the new farm stand.

Dean Pascal, from
Community Unlimited, also lives in South LA:

“There’s maybe one
grocery story within—I would say—a mile radius that I can even walk to, so it’s
super hard, basically. Like you have try to eat healthy, and as opposed to if I
walk out of my door, there’s a Kenyon Normandy, a Taco Bell, A Jack in The
Box—so this is why this is needed because we need to make eating healthy just
as convenient as eating fast food.”

1:54 Many shoppers
who turned out for the farm stand last Friday were definitely happy to have a
convenient healthy option, but can a small produce stand that’s only open 3
hours a week really make a difference in how people eat? Isaac White has lived
in the neighborhood for 54 years:

“Right now, it’s a band-aid over our wound—of not being able
to purchase organic foods, fresh fruits and vegetables. Here in the _?___ space
neighborhood, if we had a market here locally for the seniors such as myself,
we could walk to the store, as it is now we have to be depend on someone coming
to get us transportation, etc. etc, just to get there to meet our needs, and we
need fresh fruits and vegetables just as much as other neighborhoods, as anybody else
does.”

2:24 Anne Kim recently returned to South LA after finishing graduate school. She doesn’t have
her own car, and recently travelled over 6 miles on foot to bring home food
from another farmer’s market across town:

“We really need more
food resources and ways of preventing us from just becoming, um, fat and unable
to enjoy life, and I’d rather be able to walk to my grocery store, walk to my
church, walk to do whatever it is I need to live, and I think it’s very very
unfortunate, but atrocious that I cannot do that.”

3:20. For some people
walking isn’t just a luxury. It’s really hard to take a bus to a grocery store
and really carry home enough groceries for a family, so we’ll see if the South
LA farm stand catches on. For KCRW, I’m Anna Scott.

3:32

++++ (commentary by Chris Stroffolino)

As a radio piece (the length of many pop-songs), Anna Scott is
to be commended for her muckraking on this exemplary David-and-Goliath story. Usually
stories like that spend so much time trying to give the corporations equal
time--interviewing a CEO explaining their rationale for having to close the supermarket,
and was pleasantly surprised this one didn't.

It’s definitely an issue that needs to be addressed and
publicized more, in hopes of creating a coordinated grass roots network of
similar stands. The Food Crisis and The Obesity Epidemic was certainly a big
issue that came up when I taught at Laney Community College in Oakland, as well
as in my own personal life when I lost my car, and had to rely on what
convenience stores were available. It’s also an issue some innovative
“conscious hip hop” songs like “Rich” by Beme-The Rapper:

Thus, I was especially happy that the related issue of
car-dependency (which may even be more pronounced in Los Angeles than it is in
the Bay Area, especially for an ex-New Yorker like myself) comes up in the
piece, and how it effects both seniors like Isaac White, and young people like
Ann Kemp. Walking is not only the only form of transportation available to some
people, it is also a way to become healthier—if you’re able to walk. Thus, the
Farm Stand serves a dual purpose; not only does it provide healthy affordable
food, it also suggests ways to create alternatives to car-based culture. I crave such neighborhood pieces community
activism. As a disabled person (who in a way is doubly disabled, because I
neither have a car nor a place to cook), I feel tremendous solidarity with
these people.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

In As You Like It, in contrast to A Midsummer Night’s Dream and other Shakespeare comedies, the main “love plot” is not introduced until later in the play. Watching the Independent Shakespeare Company of Los Angeles
(ISCLA)’s delightful and thought-provoking performance in time, reminded how long we’re actually stuck in the “envious
court,” presided over by Duke Frederick (who has villainously usurped power
from the rightful duke, his brother). The romantic plot takes a while to
assert itself. At first, it seems like a sub-plot. You could even say it is
incapable of making a genuine first move.

As many critics have suggested, the play is more about
“gender politics.” When Celia and Rosalind enter, against the backdrop of the
male-dominated court, they begin speaking of gender more than love, and the
themes they introduce---the relationship between women’s honesty and beauty,
and fortune and nature’s “offices”-- will clearly be taken up later in the play
(most blatantly in Touchstone and Audrey’s relationship). When the idea of
“love” is introduced, it is introduced as “sport,” a diversion from Rosalind’s
misery before she meets Orlando.

When Rosalind and Orlando do meet, both size each other up
as much by character (and specifically their parentage—the similarity, and even
solidarity, between their banished parents) as by their physical aspects (his
wrestling prowess, her beauty). So even after this meeting establishes a
possible love story, it is still deferred as both Rosalind and Orlando defect
to the forest of Arden (not coincidentally the maiden-name of Shakespeare’s
mother), which is already inhabited by her father, the banished Duke. In fact,
Rosalind’s famous “To liberty, then, not banishment” speech becomes a thesis
statement for the first Arden scenes. Most of Act II is interested in showing the
character of the Duke’s court-in-exile in contrast to his bother’s court than
in the natives of Arden.

II. “That
Is The Way To Make Her Scorn You Still”

The change in tone to a “love story” begins with the first
entrance of the natives of the forest in Act 2, Scene 4: Corin and the
“love-sick” Silvius. The first line spoken by Corin, the older (if not
necessarily wiser) man is: “that is the way to make her scorn you still.” This
line, spoken in media res, suggests a
smarter love strategy than that which Silvius is engaging in. But Silvius has a
point: he’s acting foolishly, but at least he knows, it. He believes this proves his love, but he leaves before
Corin is able to suggest to him a possible alternative strategy that wouldn’t make Phoebe scorn Silvius. Yet, at least as important, is this effect
this exchange has on Rosalind:

Alas, poor shepherd,
searching of thy wound,

I have by hard
adventure found mine own. (2.4.39-40)

Rosalind’s identification of Silvius’ “wound” with her own
reveals an identification that goes deeper than conventional gendered-postures
toward love. This prompts Touchstone to comically express the earnest follies
he remembers about how he acted when he “was in love.” Unlike Corin, he
remembers it, but like Corin, he advises that such folly will pass: “But as all
is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.” And Rosalind,
in contrast to Silvius, understands that wisdom—but certainly isn’t going to
repeat Silvius’ mistake (it is not her way to beg, but rather to conjure, as
she says in the epilogue).

It isn’t until Act 3, Scene 2, however, that Orlando starts
“marring trees” with his poetry praising Rosalind, which reveals that it’s
easier to take the characters from the court than the mindset of the court from
the characters. Orlando’s speech in which he announces that he will write poems
is itself an attempt formal courtly poem (a truncated sonnet missing a
quatrain).

Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:

And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey

With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,

Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.

O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;

That every eye which in this forest looks

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.

Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree

The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.

“Books in brooks”
indeed, but the poetry he actually puts on the trees is probably even worse.

III. Orlando’s Poetry

Now we finally get to hear
Orlando’s poetry, and the audience can generally agree that it’s terrible.
But the poetry serves at least two functions: 1) It establishes the main love
plot, in a play that is relatively short on plot. 2) It allows the other
characters to become poetry critics, which moves this dialogic plot forward.

Touchstone, Celia and Rosalind herself all play the part of
the “poetry critic,” mocking the unskilled verses (in ways similar to Theseus
and his court mocking the performance of "Pyramus and Thisbe" in A Midsummer Night’s Dream). [i]Their mocks, however, are more about the manner of the verses rather than the content of them, especially
once Celia tells Rosalind that Orlando is the author of them. Clearly, knowing
who the author is changes Rosalind’s response to the poems (she’s obviously not
a “New Critic” who takes the poem as a self-contained unit, regardless of
context). Despite the fact Orlando’s poems “had more feet than the verses would
bear,” it hardly matters if “the feet might bear the verses.” While Rosalind is
clearly flattered by the attention of the man she herself feels ‘love sick’
for, her criticisms of Orlando’s poetry are ethical as well as aesthetic.

As Rosalind becomes giddy and expresses her own
love-sickness in confidence, to Celia, Orlando enters, in conversation with the
melancholy Jaques, which Rosalind notes (“slink by and note him”), with the advantage of disguise, as well as of what Bertrand Evans’ calls “discrepant awareness”—she is the unobserved observer witnessing this conversation. Jaques, too, attempts to criticize
Orlando’s poetry, but the best criticism of Orlando he can muster is “the worst
fault you have is to be in love.” Since one of Orlando’s poems actually refers
to Jaques’ “Seven Ages Of Man” speech, but considers it less beautiful than the
mere name of Rosalind, it makes sense
that Jaques would dismiss it. He’s clearly not an entirely “reliable critic.” As
Orlando nobly responds, “I chide no breather but myself,” he reveals things
about his character that his poetry could not. This conversation, as much as Orlando’s
earlier prowess in wrestling, can confirm for Rosalind that Orlando is a much
better man than a poet, as he basically offers a defense of his poetry---even
his bad poetry---in prose, or conversation.

In conversation with Orlando, Rosalind’s criticism of his
poetry mostly address her ethical
concerns with the content of his verses, as well as of his speech. Althoughly playfully
and comically expressed, there is some serious business going on here. Given the speed in which all of this happens in performance,
it’s easy to ignore what Orlando’s poetry was actually saying, but it’s not lost on Rosalind. Let’s take a look at the content of the two poems of Orlando’s
that Rosalind has heard.

The first one, which Touchstone parodies, is simply a praise
poem of a disembodied ideal (“her worth, mounted on the wind”) and plays into
the courtly sonneteer conventions that Shakespeare’s famous Dark Lady Sonnet
(#129) parodied (all the pictures fairest lined/ are but black to Rosalind”). To
be fair, it’s doubtful Orlando actually intended
this to be read by Rosalind.

The second poem (which Celia read) is deeper; it’s certainly
longer, but not really about love, or even really about women. This “tedious
homily of love,” in Rosalind’s phrase, spends ten lines essentially summarizing
what we’ve seen of the male-dominated envious court (“violated vows/ ‘Twixt the
soul of friend and friend), as well as Jaques’ cynically reductive “Seven Ages
Of Man” Speech. It’s clear, however, Orlando is trying to find a way out of
this mindset, now that he’s in the “unpeopled” forest, as he invokes her name:

But upon the fairest
boughs,

Or at the end of every
sentence end,

Will I Rosalinda write.”

It is unintentionally hilarious; Orlando will write about
“violated vows” and then tag the word Rosalinda at the end of every sentence.
He then continues on an expanded, and slightly better written, version of the
other poem, as he invokes the name of “Rosalind” as an ideal alternative to the
world he knew.[1] Orlando
at least uses the name of Rosalind to reimagine his identity in Arden, and this
actually parallels Rosalind using the name (and disguise) of
Ganymede—especially once she realizes it can be useful in her wooing/education
of Orlando. It’s a start, but only a start.

Noticeably absent is the “sighing” and “groaning” of a “true
lover” like Silvius. Nor is there anything specific about what won him over in
their meeting about her character (sure, he may not have a lot to go on, but
he’s got something more than “Helen’s cheek, but not her heart,” for instance).

No wonder Rosalind calls the writer of these verses a
“fancy-monger” who needs “good counsel” for his “deifying the name of
Rosalind.” There’s a fine line between “Deifying” and “defying” here. When
Rosalind tells Orlando what actions or “marks” embody the sign of a true male
lover, she essentially characterizes Silvius. If you were a true lover, “every
thing about you [would] demonstrate a careless desolation.”

She then adds:

but you are no such man; you/are rather point-device in your
accoutrements as

loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.”

And, indeed, she’s absolutely right; this is what we see revealed
in Orlando’s character up until this point. Of course, this doesn’t mean that
such self-love isn’t preferable to the “true lover” as portrayed by Silvius.
Certainly Rosalind doesn’t fall for Silvius, but only pities him.

The dialogue between Orlando and Rosalind may take this
“poetry criticism” as its starting point, but it goes beyond it. Improvising,
based on what she knows of Orlando’s character, Rosalind figured out a way to
woo and be wooed, to teach and reveal her character. As student in her private
tutorial, Orlando clearly wants to make Ganymede believe that he loves, and now refers to himself as “the
unfortunate he,” but does she really love her?
By the end of the scene he’s much more willing to play the game of wooing,
of courting with the sly, witty, Ganymede---even if it’s mock wooing.[2] It’s
certainly better than the merely monastic “cure for love” she offers--if
nothing else, will it allow him to “people” the desert with a more
“fleshed-out” version of Rosalind if he ever decides to write a poem again.
And, luckily—for everybody---we never even see him trying to write a poem again.

The poetry, in a way, did serve its purposes, but now
theatre can take over. Whether or not an actual woman would embody all the
“non-ideal” characteristics Ganymede mentions (for instance: grieve, be
effeminate, changeable, longing/ and liking, proud, fantastical, apish,
shallow,/inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every/ passion something
and for no passion truly any thing), Orlando clearly is won over more fleshed
out, and less-than-ideal, role of women that Ganymede will play, and has
already played in this scene. Rosalind will get another chance to play “poetry
critic” soon enough.

IV. Phebe’s Poetry

After the intermission, time speeds up, plots both
accelerate and proliferate, but all of them deepen our understanding of love
more than “poetry” has. In Act 3, Scene 4. Orlando is late. Rosalind’s
skepticism about men’s vows could be proven true, and she will show him how she
feels about that before they’re
married; before she has a chance, she is interrupted by Corin, who invites her
to witness the ‘pageant’ of Silvius
and Phebe. Rosalind will watch (and learn), but like Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, will also
prove “a busy actor in their play”(3.4.46), except more intimately than she
knows. In many ways, this “play within a play” most dramatic scene and situation in As
You Like it, in part because it is also the occasion for more lyric poetry
(poetry in this play, in contrast to song, engenders
drama).

The scene does begin like a “pageant.” This is the first
time we actually see Phebe, and she starts out as the cliché convention of the
“scornful mistress,” but due to Ganymede’s intervention, she ends up a very
complex and fascinating character (albeit write small, and certainly not as
complex as Rosalind, or even 12th Night’s Olivia, with who she has
many similarities; though the gravitas
of her situation is given much more weight in 12th Night).

When we see Phebe mock Silvius’s hyperbolic language, as
Corin had warned Silvius she would, Ganymede intervenes, and improvises. She
will scorn the scorner, mock the mocker; you’re no beauty, be grateful. Phebe,
however, is turned on, at least as much by the physical appearance of Ganymede,
as by the language that “he” uses,
and promptly falls for Ganymede.

It confirms for Rosalind the first thing she heard Corin say
about Phoebe when she entered Arden: Silvius’s attitudes feed Phebe’s scorn, as well as its corollary: Ganymede’s
scorn breeds love. This notion of love, which Renee Girard calls Mimetic
Desire, is perhaps most clearly and succinctly stated in dialogue form in this
short passage from A Midsummer Night’s
Dream:

Helen:

O, teach me how you look and with what art

You sway the notion of Demetrius’ heart

Hermia:

I frown upon him, yet he loves me still

Helena

Oh , that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

Hermia:

I give him curses, yet he gives me love

Helena:

Oh, that my prayers could such affection move!

Hermia:

The more I hate, the more he follows me

Helena:

The more I love, the more he hateth me (Act1, Scene 1. 192-199).

In A Midsummer Night’s
Dream, the tempo of this exchange is so fast, that the importance and
gravitas of what is being revealed here (even if not to the characters
themselves) is lost, but it’s expanded and slowed down in As You Like It.

If we take this as a universal attitude towards “the play of
love,” it implies that Phoebe’s scorn may also make Silvius love her—but now
that Phebe feels the wound that Silvius felt, she feels a deeper appreciation
and understanding of the role he has been playing, and the language he uses, in part because she can’t keep
up with the way Ganymede hoists her with her own petard (as Hamlet would put
it).

Phebe clearly loves the language of prose and taunting over
the language of poetic mewling (just as Rosalind clearly loves the dialogue of
wooing more than the poetry of deification)—but by the end of the scene it’s no
longer an “either/or” decision for Phoebe. While she began the scene
criticizing his pathetic language about the “invisible wound” of love, she now
admires Silvius’s language, as well as Rosalind’s.
In the heat of the moment, Phebe may not be able to see fully how similar Ganymede’s
theatrical scorn is to her scorn of Silvius, but she does now understand
Silvius’ perspective (and why he would be drawn to such language in the first
place).

Still, Phebe thinks she can meet Ganymede’s taunts with
taunts of her own, but needs to do it in writing, with Silvius’s help—not that
Silvius has the ability to play the game of taunting as much as Ganymede does.
Phebe is clearly confused at the end of the scene—and doesn’t know how to
combine the language of taunting and wooing (Ganymede’s and Silvius’) as
Rosalind does with Orlando, but Phebe becomes much more attractive, and
interesting, as she tries to sort it out. In fact, she is the character we witness
going through the most profoundchange in the entire play.

When Rosalind receives this “taunting letter,” she once
again plays the role of “poetry critic” with an emphasis on ethical, rather
than aesthetic, standards (for whatever else can be said of Phebe’s poem, it’s
not as bad as Orlando’s were):

Rosalind: She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. Reads

Art thou god to
shepherd turn'd,

That a maiden's heart
hath burn'd?

Can a woman rail thus?

SILVIUS Call you this railing?

ROSALIND [Reads]

Why, thy godhead laid
apart,

Warr'st thou with a
woman's heart?

Did you ever hear such railing?

Whiles the eye of man
did woo me,

That could do no
vengeance to me.

Meaning me a
beast.

If the scorn of
your bright eyne

Have power to
raise such love in mine,

Alack, in me what
strange effect

Would they work in
mild aspect!

Whiles you chid me, I
did love;

How then might your
prayers move!

He that brings this
love to thee

Little knows this love
in me:

And by him seal up thy
mind;

Whether that thy youth
and kind

Will the faithful
offer take

Of me and all that I
can make;

Or else by him my love
deny,

And then I'll study
how to die.

SILVIUS Call you this chiding?(Act 4, Scene 3)

Rosalind’s “poetry criticism” here is very similar to her
explicit and implicit critiques of Orlando’s poetry. She criticizes the
deification as tyrannical. Rosalind’s criticism is also similar to Phoebe’s own
criticism of how Silvius’s language (of scorn, wound, and dying) casts her (or
‘him’) into the role of “beast.” Rosalind shows herself as a “master-mistress”
of combining these two roles as Phoebe was not (yet) able.

While Phebe understands that Ganymede’s scorn has the power
to “raise such love in mine,” it’s a difficult to believe her plea that
Ganymede’s “mild aspect” would make her love even greater (after all, that
“mild aspect” as Phebe’s poem defines it, is exactly what Silvius showed her,
and which she scorned).

There are a number of fascinating ironies here. Silvius had
warned Rosalind the poem was harsh---because that’s what he was told Phebe
intended. And when Rosalind claims, “She Phebes me,” she’s implicitly saying
“You’re right, Silvius, this is
harsh. She’s treating me similar to the way you must be treating her,” but on
hearing it, he wants to defend Phebe for being so gentle---for the first time in the play.

Rosalind of course knows in advance that Silvius wouldn’t
see it as ‘harsh,” because in truth, her main criticism of this poem is that
“She Silvius’s me!” The main point in this exchange is to teach Silvius a
lesson, as if to her private tutorial says to him: “Silvius, this is how Phebe
read your declarations of love. She saw it as railing and chiding, and you cast
her into the role of beast, even if you didn’t know you were.” Your rhetoric is
certainly not persuasive.

The debate over whether this poem or letter truly is chiding
is left off, but Phebe herself had claimed she intended to write a taunting letter. Of course, that doesn’t mean
it was really her intention---the poem makes it clear that Phebe didn’t
actually want Silvius to read this letter, and thus see Phebe as the vulnerable
love-shaken woman (He that brings this
love to thee/Little knows this love in me)—but once she reads it aloud to
Silvius, it doesn’t diminish Silvius’ love, and may even deepen it, even if he
remains largely a passive sieve (but one whose sentimental foolery got the
whole plot going in the first place).

V. Denouement (&
Touchstone)

Soon, Rosalind realizes she must gracefully transition to
being Rosalind again--not just because Orlando’s third tardiness had a
legitimate excuse, or even because her disguise (while not proving “a
wickedness,” -in Viola’s words from Twelfth
Night)-- has gotten her more tangled up in the Silvius-Phebe plot than she
would have wished, but also because his brother and Celia have now fallen in
love, and thus can be useful allies in any return to the court---though that
“appears in other ways than words.” She may even feel a little abandoned by
Celia, or at least as envious of it as Orlando is of Oliver’s newfound
happiness.

Rosalind, however, did achieve what she set out to do, and
establish a new ground for a relationship with Orlando. As the play winds to its
denouement, the characters prepare
for the return to court (while the country couple of Silvius and Phoebe
apparently will stay in Arden---in contrast to Audrey who will get her wish to
be a woman of the world, with Touchstone).

This return to court of most of the main characters, with
the “clarification” CL Barber claims, requires its own essay, but let me end
with a note about Touchstone. Touchstone is not only getting married, by a
proper priest this time (see Carole Thomas Neeley’s seminal feminist
discussion), but in a way---and more importantly (for him), he’s getting
“betrothed” to the banished Duke who is about to become the rightful Duke, and
thus in a position to pay him when
they return to court. While in Arden, the Duke had considered making Jaques’
his substitute “foole” (“you shall have [motley]), but Jaques had clearly shown
himself unfit for that role, especially in contrast to Touchstone. All works
out, because Jaques decides to “follow” the newly reformed usurping Duke
Frederick in a “nook merely monastic,” in which they can either rail together
(or something to be determined in a possible sequel if you’re so inclined).

[1] (and such peopling, certainly goes beyond Richard
II’s prison soliloquy in Act 5, scene 2 of Richard II; with which an
interesting comparison could be drawn. Richard ends in trying to people his
prison, but in many ways it’s Orlando’s beginning.

[2]In this dialogue, Orlando reveals himself as not an
entirely passive sieve (in contrast to Silvius), and does give cues to her, yet
Rosalind controls the conversation, she has it both ways: the learned uncle who
schooled her not only taught her to be, be suspicious of woman, it turns out
that this “uncle” is also at least as suspicious of men! (just as much as her
actual uncle, Duke Frederick, is). It’s possible that Ganymede is teaching him
skepticism (not just towards others, but towards himself---which h already
shows signs of,--“I chide no breather but myself”), in part as a reminder of
the court they left, and both hope to return to---but Ganymede is less
interested in teaching Orlando to be more suspicious in love, than she is in
bringing them into play.

About Me

7 books of poetry, including Stealer's
Wheel (Hard Press, 1999) and Light As A Fetter (The Argotist UK, 2007). My critical study (with David Rosenthal) of Shakespeare's 12th Night (IDG books)
was published in 2001; more recent prose writings of contemporary media studies
and ethnomusicology have appeared on-line @ Radio Survivor
(http://radiosurvivor.com/2011/06/02/a-history-of-radio-and-content-part-ii-jukeboxes-to-top-40/)
and The Newark Review
(http://web.njit.edu/~newrev/3.0/stroffolino1.html). A recipient of grants from
NYFA & The Fund For Poetry, Stroffolino was Distinguished Poet-in-Residence
at Saint Mary's College from 2001-06, and has since taught at SFAI and Laney
College. As a session musician, Stroffolino worked with Silver Jews, King Khan
& Gris Gris and many others. Always interested in the intersections between
poetry and music, he organized a tribute to Anne Sexton's rock band for The
Poetry Society of America, and joined Greg Ashley to perform the entire Death
Of A Ladies' Man album for Sylvie Simmons' Leonard Cohen biography in 2012.
In 2009, he released, Single-Sided Doubles, an album featuring poems set to
music. In 2016, Boog City published a play:AnTi-GeNtRiFiCaTiOn WaR dRuM rAdIo. Stroffolino currently teaches creative writing and critical thinking at Laney College